Confessions of a Part-Time Jerk
by greensquidkosh
Summary: Written taking place during Welcome to Night Vale episode 19 A-The Sandstorm. Steve Carlsberg listens to the radio broadcast, and has a strange flashback that gets him thinking about his past with Cecil.


"_-Oh God-this is the bad news I was talking about. An email from __**Steve Carlsberg**__._"

Steve Carlsberg grimaced, crouching in the corner of his room listening to the radio. The way Cecil said his name was always kind of frightening, and dripping with malice that would make a mass murderer seem kind. Steve always acted hostile towards Cecil, but only because Cecil was so hostile towards Steve. It was a kind of an "eye for an eye" thing.

"_I don't even want to read an email from that __**jerk**__, but if printing it out was one of the Dana's last actions I must honor her efforts._"

Steve frequently wrote to the radio station. He had Opinions about Night Vale and its government, but only because he cared about his community. He just didn't think that a vague yet menacing government was _right_ for Night Vale, and he wanted someone else in the town to realise that. Well, that's what he told himself. Everyone else in the town saw him as being a selfish, paranoid idiot who insulted their way of life.

"_Steve-_" Cecil moaned painfully, as if even saying his name were a heavy burden, "_-Steve writes: The sandstorm is clearly a cover-up. I believe this was a government created project. Our government has long been proceeding in cloud seeding experiments, and trying to suppress the people with pharmaceuticals. I believe that this government will stop at nothing in order to-_" There was a menacing pause. Steve felt a chill go down his spine.

"_Now you listen here, __**Steve Carlsberg**__._" Steve felt a sudden urge to hide under his bed, and instinctively did so.

"_You're not saying anything new, Steve. Of course the sandstorm was created by the government, the City Council announced. That. This. __**Morning**__. The government makes it no secret that they can control the weather, and earthquakes, and monitor thoughts and activities. That's the stuff a big government is supposed to do. Obviously, you have never read the Constitution!_" There was a pause while Cecil caught his breath and changed tone from furious to merely annoyed.

"_Okay, sure, the government can be very inefficient, and sometimes bloated and corrupt, but the answer is __**not**__ to complain about __**everything**__ that they do. Without government, we would never have schools, or roads, or municipal utilities, or helpful pandemics, or black vans that roam our neighborhoods at night keeping. Us. Safe! So please. Steve. __**Carlsberg**__. I've had __**enough**__ of your government bashing!_"

Cecil finally paused, finished ranting, but obviously still trembling with rage. Steve sighed. It hadn't always been like this. There was a time when Cecil and Steve barely knew each other. There was a time when they mildly hated each other, although sometimes in a joking way. But then there was a time when they were friends. But then everything had gone wrong. Horribly wrong.

It was the first day of High School. It was the old fashioned kind of schooling where Elementary School was from Kindergarten to Sixth Grade, and High School was Seventh Grade to Twelfth Grade. Steve was still finding his way through the school, getting easily lost and confused. It was third hour, and he was thoroughly lost.

"Need help?"

The voice, almost hypnotic in its deep, stable tone, came from behind Steve. He turned around. Behind him was an Eighth Grader, not tall but not short, not fat but not thin. He was wearing a tie, despite there not being a school uniform. He seemed to be partially of Native American descent, had light brown hair that was lighter at its roots as though a dye was washing out to reveal his actual blond color (but since hair dye was currently illegal in Night Vale, as it turned into grizzly bears, it was probably just his natural color the whole way through), had bright, violet eyes, and what appeared to be a third eye tightly closed in the middle of his forehead. There was a hint of an intricate, light purple tattoo on his arm, but it was mostly covered by his shirt sleeve.

"Y-yeah, that would be nice." Steve stammered, not sure what to think of this person.

"Where are you going?" the older asked with a smile.

"R-room 180." Steve replied.

"Ah. That's just down the hall to the left, third door on the right."

"Th-thanks!" Steve said honestly.

"No problem. My name's Cecil, by the way." Cecil held out his hand formally.

"I'm Steve. N-nice to meet you." Steve replied, taking Cecil's hand hesitantly.

"Well, see you around!" Cecil said, waving goodbye, "Good luck finding your classes!"

"Thanks! S-see you!" Steve wasn't sure why, but Cecil had made him nervous. Normally he didn't stutter when meeting a new person, but with Cecil he had. Steve hurried down the hall to his class.

Steve opened his eyes. He saw only a black void, and panicked, before realizing he was still under his bed. He crawled out. The radio was only making a strange, humming noise, barely audible over the raging sandstorm outside. How odd... That flashback had come out of nowhere. It hadn't even been a traumatic life event... Steve had never even thought of the first time he met Cecil before the flashback.

"_Hello?_"

The voice ripped Steve out of his thoughts. It had come from the radio. It wasn't Cecil's voice-it was slightly higher in tone, friendlier... but also more fake. Steve thought that he'd heard it somewhere before...

"_Hello, Desert Bluffs?_" Ah, that's what it was. It was the Desert Bluffs broadcaster, Kevin. Had the channel switched while he was passed out? The voice was uncertain, maybe a little afraid...

"_What is this studio...?_" That was odd, thought Steve. He checked the channel, and it was still tuned to Night Vale. What was Kevin doing in Night Vale?

"_Hey there Desert Bluffs. Don't know if you can hear me... Kevin here. I don't know where I am... It's a radio studio, but the walls are darker. And the equipment looks... Older. Certainly much dryer than it should be. This microphone was made-when?_" There was a quiet pause, "_...Have I gone back in time?_" Then, louder, "_Vanessa, are you in the booth? Listeners, if you can hear me, I am in a strange place. I do not know if I am in Desert Bluffs, or if anyone can hear me. The sandstorm rages outside. The vortex is still there, although its black, almost a deep blue. There is a low hum. I do not know if this is the portal or the storm or my own body... There is a photo here on the desk. It is a man. He is wearing a tie. He is not tall or short, not thin or fat... He has eyes like mine, and a nose like mine, and hair like mine... But I do not think he is me._" There was another fragile, quiet pause, "_...Maybe it is the smile. Is that a smile? I can't say. I do hope he is safe. Whoever, wherever he is. I hope I am safe. Wherever... Whoever I am. It is night-I think it is night-_" Then, more decidedly than anything else he'd said so far, and with a much more chipper attitude, "_It is night. You may not know me, nor I you, but we have this mic and this voice, and your warm ears blossoming open to hear comforting secrets in the vibrations of a voice that pulse so deep within your body. Your heart relaxes for a time. And we have this sitting on this oddly bloodless desk!_" This last statement, Steve thought, was much more light than it should have been. "_And now, dear listeners, I give you: The Weather._"

Steve was greatly disturbed by Kevin. Maybe it was his startling resemblance to Cecil. But why should Cecil disturb him? Steve told himself frequently that he did not care for Cecil. He _didn't. Care. _Steve shifted and hugged his knees. Kevin was greatly disturbing, yet he did not know why or how.

Steve was at his first school dance. He was not yet very much involved in high school social life, and mostly just hung out with his elementary school friends. Except for one person, all his friends were old friends. That one person was Cecil.

They weren't very close friends. The just had a sort of mutual understanding of one another, and since Cecil had helped Steve on the first day of school Steve had looked up to him. The whole time Steve had been trying to find a time to speak with Cecil, because he liked Cecil and wanted their friendship to grow, even if Cecil was strangely intimidating in a way Steve could not describe.

Steve finally made his way over to Cecil around an hour into the dance.

"Hey, Cecil! How's it going?" Steve shouted over the music.

"Really good!" Cecil shouted back. He turned to the guy next to him, a slightly taller Eighth Grader with short, dark brown hair and the beginnings of a beard. He wore a stylish pair of suspenders. "John, have you met Steve? Steve, this is John Peters! You know, the farmer's son? This is Steve!"

"Hey there, Steve! Cecil told me about you." John Peters said, smiling.

Steve was pleasantly surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah!" John returned with a smile. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Nice to meet you too!" Steve replied. John seemed like he could be a new friend, and Steve desperately wanted new friends.

Cecil was about to say something when the blaring dance music slowed to a romantic tune. Leanne Hart, one of Steve's friends from his elementary years, quickly pulled Steve aside and begged the favor of a dance. Steve, still an awkward, socially blind, child, awkwardly accepted. He wanted to continue talking with Cecil and John, but he had been taught to respect ladies when growing up. It was something that his mother, especially, had stressed.

Steve and Leanne were slow dancing (along with everyone else in the area) and the song was about halfway through when Steve glanced over to where Cecil and John had been. They were still there, and were... Slow dancing with each other. Steve had never seen anything like it before, and possibly combined with the fact that whenever he looked at Cecil he felt nervous, Steve was mildly disturbed by this. He was going to force himself to ignore it, putting the mere possibility of a relationship between the two boys far out of his mind... But he utterly failed, because at that moment, they kissed.

Cecil was utterly terrified. However, he was safely back in his studio, away from that horrible, blood-stained place. Someone had put the weather on, which was rather good for Cecil since he needed to take a few minutes to calm down.

He sat in his chair, and breathed calmly for a few minutes. He hadn't been that scared or that angry for a very, very long time. And it was that _jerk_ **_Steve Carlsberg_** to blame, of course. Cecil hugged his knees, wishing he had those memories forever erased, but they were there, and, even with re-education from the government, they would not go away.

Cecil was in Ninth Grade. His first boyfriend, John Peters, had broke up with him over summer break, but it was one of those nice, mutual break-ups where no one is upset and you still stay friends afterwards. However, Cecil was beginning to dread going to school, because of one person: Steve Carlsberg.

Steve had been so nice, so young, so innocent the last year. All Cecil had done was be nice to him! However, ever since Steve discovered that Cecil was only attracted to people of the same gender, Steve had been... different. At first he was just awkward, then he turned cold. When Cecil asked him if he was alright, Steve lashed out at him. Cecil now was walking to his locker at the end of the day, the halls filled with the noise of people leaving or going to clubs, and he had the vague image in the back of his mind of Steve coldly walking through the halls, making his way to Cecil's locker... Cecil pushed the image out of his mind, closing his third eye. The eye had never really opened often before recently, and it was something that Cecil himself was still puzzling over the meaning of. It probably had something to do with hitting maturity.

Cecil arrived at his locker, and felt a sudden urge to run. He realized his third eye was open again, and closed it. How embarrassing... The urge to run disappeared.

"Cecil."

Cecil turned. Steve Carlsberg was standing behind him.

"Hi Steve," Cecil said, with a slightly hesitant smile, "How are you?"

Steve did not respond for what seemed like a full minute. Then, he very coldly said, "How are you?"

Cecil was slightly surprised by this response. Steve was being very odd, like when he'd lashed out at Cecil a few weeks ago. But before Cecil could say anything, Steve continued speaking.

"Still gay?" Steve said it perfectly monotone, but his face was in a slight sneer. Cecil flinched a little, involuntarily. "I see that you are." Steve said, noticing the flinch. Cecil was becoming a little annoyed and slightly nervous.

"And why would that be a problem?" Cecil said, keeping his cool, but his third eye subconsciously opening a slit.

"That is the problem, Cecil." Steve had hissed Cecil's name, "You act like it's normal. It isn't. You are not normal, Cecil." Steve took a step towards the older, but now slightly shorter, student.

Cecil's third eye opened a bit more. He began to feel something well up inside him-but it was not clear what emotion it was yet. "Everyone is different, Steve. I mean, being gay isn't that odd."

"Ha!" The laugh was not a laugh. It was more like an exclamation of anger. "You sound so fake. 'Everyone is different'!" Steve imitated in an entirely inaccurate voice, "Why don't you go work on a children's television show? You'd fit in well, surprisingly! Ha!"

"Steve, it's true." Cecil said, voice faltering. He stopped, shocked at himself. His voice had never faltered before. Not once. He became aware of a dull pain in the center of his back, exactly in that place you can't reach with your hand.

"No it isn't. We have more similarities than we do differences. But you-" Steve advanced another step, "you are different. You are so very different than the rest of us, Cecil."

Cecil's third eye was half open now. He was aware of the footsteps of all the people in the hallway, thundering on past. They seemed so much louder now for some reason. But there was that one silent area directly in front of him, where no feet hit the floor. The spot where Steve stood. Cecil could not answer, no matter how he tried. His mouth was dry.

"You can't be different in a community," Steve continued, taking another step, shockingly loud, "It causes tension, disagreement-the community needs to agree on everything, or fights break out. The community is what really drives our lives. We all need to agree. You, Cecil-you are disagreeing with the rest of us. You are the conflict. Night Vale does not need you."

Cecil felt a lump in his throat. That couldn't be true! Night Vale was his home! He cared about Night Vale, more than he cared about most other things. Yet Cecil still could not speak.

"Night Vale," Steve continued, taking the last step, a thunderclap of sound, and now a mere half foot away from Cecil, "does not want you."

Cecil snapped.

"_**How do you know that, Steve Carlsberg?!**_" The voice was so different-so filled with rage and pain-that no one who heard would have guessed that it was Cecil's. Cecil's third eye was entirely open, and the markings on his arms turned to a dark purple. They moved like writhing tentacles. "**_How do you know that it isn't you that Night Vale does not want?!_**"

Steve, surprised at first, now rekindled his own rage. "_I_ am not _different_, _Cecil Baldwin!_ _I_ am _normal!_ You are the conflict, the _plague_ of Night Vale!"

Cecil knew what Steve was thinking. Steve was thinking horrible, vile thoughts about Cecil, although they seemed somewhat forced. Steve was angry, but also afraid. He was angry at Cecil, but also angry at... himself? A static noise suddenly filled Cecil's mind, ringing in his ears. This did not calm his rage.

"_**Do you know what you are, Steve Carlsberg? You are a jerk! You are the conflict! Y**__ou are the p_la-plage of... N-Night... Va..." Cecil fell to the floor. A hooded figure was standing a few inches behind Steve, and had been staring at Cecil for the past minute. It was actually quite surprising, how long he had lasted. Steve did not know about the hooded figure, but when he thought about taking a step backward, he felt a very firm inclination not to do so, and instead took a step to the right. He was in perfect alignment to be tackled by the town's best football player, who only went by "Big Rico", and was a senior at the school.

"What the-" Steve started, when he was cut off by the huge hulking muscle house holding him to the lockers.

"He's right, you know! You are a jerk!" Big Rico yelled, before shoving Steve into the lockers again, then lifting him off the ground with one hand.

"Wh-what? P-put me down!" Steve protested.

"No. You're coming with me." Big Rico then proceeded to make his way to the nearest window, and throw Steve out of it. Luckily for Steve, they were only on the second floor, and he landed in the pool. Steve was still ungrateful for this, however, because it was December, and the pool was very, very cold, at least to the citizens of Night Vale, who are accustomed to desert climate.

Teddy Williams, meanwhile, who was Big Rico's best friend and studying Medicine and Bowling Alley Keeping at Night Vale University, was trying to revive Cecil. Big Rico came back into the area of the hall where the incident had happened.

"Is he alright?" Rico asked, addressing Teddy.

"He will be... Probably. He's experienced quite the psychological shock. But something tells me it would have been worse if you hadn't knocked him out by bringing in the Hooded Figure. That was a good idea." Teddy said, grimly, all the while checking Cecil's vitals and rummaging around in a portable medical kit.

"Thanks, by the way." Big Rico said to the Hooded Figure. He gave it the Hooded Figure equivalent of a high-five, and it began to glide menacingly down the hallway.

Teddy sighed. "Well, you're an expert here, too, Rico. You've experienced something like this. What do you recommend?"

Rico frowned, remembering the time he was struck by a bolt of sentient lightning. He had suddenly gained psychological powers, which allowed him to communicate with the Hooded Figures among other things. However, for the first week or so, he'd experienced a lot of anxiety, paranoia, and depression. After a thoughtful pause, he responded, "Ice Cream."

"Are you sure?" Teddy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Definitely."

"Right." Teddy said, letting out a small sigh, "Lets go to my dad's shop."

Steve lay on his bed, trying to block out the noise of the sandstorm with the weather from the radio. He thought it was a sad tune, sung without words. Yet somehow the meaning of the song was clear. That was the beauty of it, really. The song could apply to anything, and could be interpreted differently by anyone who heard it.

Steve interpreted the song as a love song. It both combined the strange lightheartedness of love and the great sadness brought by it. More sadness than lightheartedness, but he had never really experienced that much happiness from love, if any at all. The song was about someone desperately in love with someone else, yet pining away because they could not be together. Steve was well acquainted with the feeling. What had been keeping him from the one he loved was his own refusal to acknowledge it. He hated himself for it, and always had. He always would.

Steve Carlsberg swam out of the cold water, swearing a hundred swears. His backpack was soaked, as well as his clothes. He would have to wring everything out when he got home. He began to shuffle home through the fog. It was a cold day for a desert town, and Steve was only wearing a thin, soaking wet t-shirt, and his head was starting to hurt.

_How could Big Rico help Cecil? Steve thought, Didn't he care about the town? The community? Cecil was so... different. How could he be a part of Night Vale and not create conflict? He already has created conflict! His sticking out in the community had caused me to call him out for it, which had led to Big Rico's violence against me. Cecil did this to me! All this was Cecil's fault!_

_But yet... could Cecil really be blamed for it? He was so nice, all the time, under all circumstances..._

_...That wasn't true. Cecil had yelled at me earlier that day. Cecil never yelled. I told him about his problem, and he reacted violently._

_Problem_... Steve turned the word over in his head. _Can he really solve it? ...Is it a problem? Could he help it?_

Steve's thoughts grew distracted. _Cecil's third eye opened... And the marks on his skin darkened when he got angry... What are those marks? Why are they purple? Are they a birthmark? A tattoo? And why are his eyes so stunningly violet? And did the third eye really glow, or was it just me? There seemed to be some kind of light welling up inside of it..._

_Why am I thinking about Cecil so much?! He's the conflict here! Cecil... Cecil with the stunning, violet eyes... He's the problem, the enemy... The plague of Night Vale.._.

And then, Steve was crying. He didn't know why. He stood there in the cold fog, soaking wet, crying his eyes out.

"Hey, kid. Let's get you inside, huh?"

Steve felt a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder. He looked up. Teddy Williams was standing next to him. Steve, wiping his eyes, allowed Teddy to take him into his apartment and make him a hot cup of hot chocolate.

"So you hate Cecil." Teddy said flatly, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Steve bit his lip, and said nothing.

"Hating people is never good. Generally speaking, it creates conflict."

_Conflict. Conflict. I created conflict._ Steve felt tears start to well up in his eyes, and desperately tried to stop them.

"Now, kid," Teddy took a sip from his mug, which said 'I HEART BOWLING' on it, and continued, "I realise that you're going through a tough time right now, but for goodness sake, you don't have to take it out on others!"

"I..." Steve began, "I don't really understand wh-what you mean..."

"You understand perfectly what I mean." Teddy said, locking eyes with Steve.

Steve cracked. "I-I thought... I thought I was doing the right thing! H-he was just so... so different, I... he destroyed me. He was all I thought about... I couldn't get my mind off of how... different he was. My grades lowered... My parents got mad at me for it... I grew distant from them, and they began to hate me. A-all that's wrong... All that's wrong with my life is his fault! He... he's a plague to the community... a plague to _me_." Now Steve was crying.

"You want answers, don't you..." Teddy said, still staring at Steve, "You want to know why."

Steve nodded miserably, quietly wiping his eyes.

"I know why." Teddy paused, took a deep breath, and said, "You're in love with him."

Steve choked. "Wh-what?"

"You're in love with him, Steve." Teddy continued, "That's why you think about him all the time. Why he's so different to you. You love him."

"Th-that... C-can't be true..." Steve knew it was true. "I-it... is... though. Wh-what have I done..."

"You've become a jerk." Teddy said bluntly, "Now drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold, and then go apologize. If you like, I'll come too. But you are the one who will have to apologize."

"O...Okay." Steve mumbled. His heart was heavy. He felt like the weight of the atmosphere was too much for him to handle, and his stomach was going to cave in on itself. His head hurt. He was freezing cold. Yet, somehow, through all of it, he found the strength to bring the mug to his lips, and, when it was empty, even to stand and walk on his own.

Teddy Williams stood behind the bar of the eating area in his bowling alley. The weather played quietly in the background. He was calmly polishing a shotgun, and staring vigilantly at the underground city. The sandstorm raged outside, and somewhere there was a doppelgänger of him that wanted to kill him. He had to prepare himself for anything.

That being done, there was a lot of time to relax. There wouldn't be any customers today, with the sandstorm. The underground city would probably not attack any time soon. Teddy looked over at the wall of news clippings from when the newspaper was still around. There were even articles about his father's Ice Cream Parlour, which shared the same building as the bowling alley now did. Everyone had been excellent friends with Teddy's dad, and in return, his dad had been excellent friends with them. Teddy even felt a passing touch of affection for him, despite their blood relation.

Teddy still kept the old Snow Cone Machine.

It had been an eternity since anyone had used it, though, and it probably didn't even work anymore. But it still sat in the corner behind the counter. The last time anyone had used it wasn't even to make a Snow Cone, it was to grind ice to calm the fever of a friend.

Teddy Williams leaned back in his comfy, squishy rolling chair, and started to remember.

Mr. Williams, the owner of Mr. Willy's Ice Cream Parlour, was grinding ice in the Snow Cone Machine that still worked. The purpose of grinding the ice was to calm the fever of a friend, because everyone in the town was Mr. Willy's friend. _Everyone_.

Mr. Willy gathered the ice up in a kitchen towel and brought it over to Rico and Cecil. Rico took it and gently placed it on Cecil's forehead, carefully avoiding the eye, in case it were to open again.

"Thanks Mr. Willy," he said, "You're the best!"

"It's no problem, Rico. I'm glad I could help." Mr. Willy replied. He went back to his counter.

Cecil's condition had not improved much since Rico and Teddy had brought him to the Ice Cream Parlour. In fact, it had worsened. Teddy presumed that it could have something to do with whatever it was that Steve Carlsberg was doing at the moment, since Steve had been the person present when Cecil's psychic abilities blossomed forth. Teddy left to deal with this possible problem, and Big Rico stayed with Cecil.

Cecil now had a fever, which had happened to Rico as well, and was not unexpected. He was still unconscious, however, and would probably get nightmares or fever dreams, both of which were much, much worse when you were a psychic. Rico suspected that Cecil's psychic abilities were even more developed than his own, since the Hooded Figure said that Cecil had been trying to read Steve's thoughts and making considerable progress before he blacked out. Reading thoughts while a Hooded Figure is standing two feet away from you is quite impressive, for your average psychic.

Rico thoughtfully spooned a Vanilla Sundae into his mouth as he looked down at the unconscious Cecil. They'd never really spoken before. Big Rico was a football star, and Cecil Baldwin was a theater geek, so they never had a chance to hang out. It was then that Cecil's eyes-not the one in the middle of his forehead-fluttered open.

"Hnnngg?"

"Hey there. How do you feel?" Rico asked, momentarily putting down the Sundae.

Cecil paused a very long time before answering. Finally, he mumbled, "Blind."

Rico was almost afraid to suggest this, but he did anyway. "Try opening your third eye. Slowly." He added quickly.

Cecil did this. He blinked a few times. "'S better." he said.

"Do you remember what happened?" Rico asked.

Cecil slowly sat up, noticed the ice that was on his forehead, and carefully held it to his skin, which was searing with fever. "Yeah..." he said quietly, "You... Saved me?"

"Oh, you remember that much?" Rico said, surprised, "Yeah, I did."

"...From Steve..." Cecil uttered, "...What a _jerk_."

"Agreed." Rico growled under his breath.

"Where... am I...?"

"Mr. Willy's. Ice Cream helps when you're a psychic."

"A what?"

"Psychic. Like me. I'm pretty sure that you're one too, although possibly on a much larger scale. Like, I can only speak to Hooded Figures and detect emotions. You seem to be able to read thoughts, at least."

Cecil thought about this for a minute or two. "I was struck by lightning?" He asked.

Rico laughed. "No. Your third eye opened, and you used this really scary voice. You yelled at Steve, who definitely deserved it."

Cecil seemed to remember something. "Oh!" He looked at Rico for the first time since he'd woken up. "Thanks a lot for saving me back there!"

"No problem." Rico said, smiling, "It was the right thing to do."

"So yeah..." Cecil mumbled, "Am I sick? Is there really a blue cat over there or am I having a fever dream?"

Rico looked at the area Cecil had indicated the blue cat to be in. There was a stunning absence of blue cat. "I'm 95% sure the cat is a hallucination. You have a fever of 101.5, so yes, you are sick, in a manner of speaking."

"101.5? That's not that bad, for me... Its a little low, actually..." Cecil mumbled. His normal temperature was 103.

"Celsius. Sorry." Rico said.

"Oh. Yeah. I am willing to admit that that's a bit on the feverish side." Cecil uttered, "Why am I sick again?"

"I think it's something that comes with being a psychic." Big Rico replied, "I had a high fever my first day of having my powers as well. But I am admitting... Yours is, er, a bit higher than mine was."

"I see..." Cecil said. He stared glassy-eyed around the shop. There was a long silence. "...Big Rico...?"

"Yes, Cecil?"

"Do I... belong, in Night Vale?"

Rico was shocked. "Of course you do. If you didn't, you'd have been taken to the Old Abandoned Mineshaft. That doesn't exist." he added quickly.

"I know, I know..." Cecil said, "But I just... wasn't sure..."

"Why?"

"Because..." Cecil murmured, "...because I'm so different..."

"Cecil." Big Rico said, very seriously, "Cecil, don't listen to what Steve said. Cecil!" Rico snapped his fingers in front of Cecil's face, for he felt that Cecil was growing more distracted. "Cecil, you are totally normal. Well, you aren't entirely normal, but no one is! You have something in common with a lot of people. We're both psychics, for example."

"...That's true..." Cecil quietly replied. His eyes were glazed over.

"Cecil," Rico said, calming down a bit, "You need some sleep. Are you cold? Warm? Anything?"

"I'm..." Cecil searched for a word, "A bit... cramped. It feels like I'm all... tied up in knots inside."

"That's normal for what you're going through." Rico said. Finally, something he could reassure Cecil of without having to make up stuff off the top of his head.

"Okay... And... Big Rico?"

"Yeah?"

"Are all the Hooded Figures surrounding the building because you told them to?"

"...Yeah."

"...Okay..." Cecil drifted off into unconsciousness.

Big Rico wondered how Cecil had known about the Hooded Figures. They'd insisted on sticking around to protect Cecil, and Rico was bad at convincing them not to do something they wanted to do. But there were no windows visible from where Cecil lay...

Rico was beginning to think that Cecil was a much more powerful psychic than he thought he was.

At that moment, however, the Hooded Figures started to make agitated noises. Rico went outside to see what the problem was.

"H-hey, Rico? Can you tell them not to kill us?!" A nervous voice shouted from outside. Rico opened the door, calmed the Hooded Figures, then directed his attention to the speaker.

"Teddy? What's up?" Rico asked.

"Hey. Uh, Steve is with me." Teddy replied. Steve was standing at a distance of a few yards.

"What?!"

"He's here to apologize."

"_What?!_" Rico glanced at Steve. He grabbed Teddy by the shoulder. "Teddy, I'd like to have a word with you. In _private._" Rico dragged Teddy just inside the store.

"What are you _doing?!_" Rico exclaimed, "Bringing him directly to Cecil?!"

"I brought him here to apologize properly to Cecil." Teddy said calmly.

"How do you know he won't, you know, yell at Cecil again? He's not exactly in a state of health!"

"He won't." Teddy assured.

"How do you know?! He probably doesn't even know what he did wrong!"

"He does."

"Oh, really?" Rico said sarcastically.

"Yes."

Rico folded his arms and stared at Teddy.

"I had a _talk_ with him." Teddy explained.

"You're lying." Rico replied, "I'm a psychic, remember?"

"Ok," Teddy's demeanor faltered a bit, "maybe I didn't _talk_ to him, but I did get the point across."

Rico raised an eyebrow. "You mean-"

"No! Nothing like that!" Teddy quickly cut off. "I wouldn't-I wouldn't hurt him. Even if he did deserve it."

"He _does_ deserve it, Teddy. He should be thankful I threw him in the pool and not on the concrete."

"Rico... He doesn't deserve it. Anything I could do to him wouldn't be half as bad as what he's doing to himself."

"What do you mean?"

"He feels horrible! Don't you realise? I don't think he'll ever forgive himself. He just didn't see that what he was feeling was-" Teddy stopped abruptly. "Cecil?"

Cecil was shakily standing a few yards behind Big Rico. His skin was flushed and the markings on his arms were a sickening dark purple-brown.

"Cecil! What are you doing? Go lie down!" Rico said, walking over to Cecil and supporting him by the arm to keep him from falling.

"Wait." He said quietly, "Steve is here."

"I know he's here. He's going to leave." Rico said, giving Teddy a small glare. Teddy frowned and bit his lip.

"No." Cecil murmured. "Let him in." Rico hesitated. "Please?" Cecil pleaded.

"Alright, fine. Go get him, Teddy." Rico begrudgingly said. Teddy left. "I don't understand... Why do you _want_ to see him?"

"I... want him to see... what he's done to me." Cecil muttered, breathing heavily and slowly.

Teddy returned with Steve, who walked a few feet behind. His eyes widened when he saw Cecil.

"Ce-Cecil..." He said quietly.

Cecil smirked weakly. "Yeah. I have a fever of 101.5... Celsius."

Steve took a few cautious steps forward. "Cecil... I'm... I'm so sorry... I-is there anything I can do to help?"

Rico looked at Cecil, as if saying that it were Cecil's decision. Cecil's third eye blinked. Rico knew what he meant instantly.

"Just stay here for the time being." Rico said. "He wants to talk to you when he's feeling better himself, so he can better comprehend the conversation."

"I understand." Steve said quickly, relieved that he hadn't been yelled at and rejected outright.

"Teddy and Mr. Willy will keep an eye on you." Rico continued. "Cecil?"

"Nnhhgg." Cecil's eyes closed and he stumbled. Rico caught him.

"Right." Rico said. "I'll take care of him. Teddy, he's fine." Rico said, noticing Teddy start to come over.

Rico carried Cecil into the back room again, and lay him down on the couch. Cecil slept peacefully, at least for the moment.

Big Rico smiled, turning up the weather. It was the kind of tune Rico thought was suitable for a pizzeria. Outside, the sandstorm was deadly, but inside, the pizzeria was calm and safe.

Big Rico wouldn't have had it any other way. He would go to great lengths to keep it that way. Whatever's outside doesn't matter in Big Rico's. It was a safe place. He'd promised an old friend to keep it that way. In return, that friend advertised for him on the radio, free of charge. They were very close friends, after all.

Cecil had locked himself in his closet. It was the only place in his room that was entirely void of light, and it was very, very quiet. He wrapped himself in the furry blanket he kept in there for such occasions, and, trying to steady his hand, dialed the number into his phone.

"Hello?"

"Big Rico? It's Cecil." Cecil whimpered.

Rico put down his pencil, closed his textbook, and turned his full attention to the phone. "What's wrong? Do you want me to come over?"

"Yeah. The front door's open."

"I'll be over there as soon as I can. Just hang in there."

Cecil put down the phone, and stared into the darkness. It was comforting. He could stare and stare all he wanted and still not see anything. But somehow, he could still see. He could see Rico gathering up his homework, shoving it in a backpack, and walking out of his door. He could see cars rolling down the street. He could see everything going on in Night Vale, even surrounded completely by the darkness. But if he closed his third eye, he felt helpless and afraid. He hated it.

"Cecil?"

"'M in here." Cecil called out.

Rico opened the closet. Cecil flinched at the brightness of the light, then looked weakly up at Rico.

"Cecil? What are you doing?" Rico asked, putting a hand to Cecil's forehead. The fever had lasted all the rest of the previous day, which, luckily, was a Friday. Cecil's fever was gone now.

"It's dark in here. I like it." Cecil mumbled.

"I see..." Rico said. He knew that Cecil was probably going to go through a lot of anxiety, depression, and paranoia, so if locking himself up in a closet with a furry blanket prevented that, Rico would gladly let him do so.

"Rico?"

"Yeah?"

"What's gonna happen to me?"

Rico sighed heavily, and sat down next to Cecil. "Honestly, I'm not entirely sure. So far you've been acting the same as I did. You got a very high fever and felt like your stomach was tied up in knots. You felt like you had an increased range of sight. You craved ice cream, which is normal for psychics."

"Why do you think that is?" Cecil asked, referring to the ice cream.

Rico shrugged. "Don't know. Probably never will. Speaking of which, it's probably a good idea to always carry a pint around with you in a heatproof container. I have some with me right now, actually. Want some?"

"Sure." Cecil said. Rico took out a pint of vanilla and chocolate swirl ice cream, and two spoons.

"So, what's going to happen next? I can't say for sure, but if it's anything like what happened to me, you'll become paranoid, depressed, and stressed out all the time. You'll want to do nothing more than wrap yourself up in a blanket, eat ice cream, and cry for hours on end, maybe watch an old black and white romantic film with a bittersweet ending or two. I was like that for a week, but it was in the summer, so I didn't have to go to school. You might want to call in sick."

"Okay." Cecil nodded.

"Hey, uh... Is that normal for you?" Rico asked, pointing to the markings on Cecil's arms. They were writhing and pulsing, and glowing a dark violet in some places, and a light periwinkle in others.

"No..." Cecil said. "Normally they don't change color or move that much. I honestly haven't really noticed it, but now that you mention it, they are acting very, very strange." Cecil pulled off his t-shirt, and stood. He walked over to the standing mirror on the other side of the room, and picked up the small hand mirror lying on his desk. He turned around, and began examining the markings, which wrapped around his arms and came together on his upper back, in the mirror. He grimaced a bit.

"Rico?" He asked, voice trembling, "Do you see that darker spot in the center of my back?"

"Yeah," Rico replied, "Why?"

"That isn't one of my markings." Cecil said.

There was a long pause. "Then... What is it?" Rico asked.

"I really have no idea." Cecil replied. He slowly reached his hand around, behind his shoulder and tried to touch it. It moved. "Ow!"

"You ok?" Rico asked, standing and walking over.

"Yeah... Just... Something moved. It felt like something... slithering out of my back from between my shoulder blades."

"...That's... Unpleasant." Rico muttered.

"Yeah." Cecil sighed. "Well... It's not too unpleasant. I'm more curious at this point than I am uncomfortable."

"Well, that's good." Rico said, "At this point when I gained my powers I was crying and watching old movies."

Cecil poked at the dark patch on his back again. It showed a vague sign of movement. He took another deep breath, and poked it a third time. This time Cecil fell to his knees, shaking, and three tentacles sprouted from the area on his back. They were vaguely octopedic, and didn't really move much at the moment.

"Cecil? Cecil, are you alright?" Rico asked, hurriedly rushing over to Cecil.

Cecil looked up at him. "I think so." He moved one of his tentacles curiously. It was like having three extra arms. He stood carefully.

"That's interesting..." Rico mumbled, "Did you expect something like that to happen?"

"No, not really." Cecil replied.

Rico shrugged. "Alright. You have tentacles. Cool."

"I think I'll have to cut holes in all my shirts..." Cecil mumbled, "Unless..." He moved the tentacles around a bit, then slid them back down his back, making them virtually disappear. "That's better. And convenient."

"Agreed." Big Rico replied. "So, you seem to be... Not having a nervous breakdown."

"I know." Cecil replied, "It's actually pretty nice. I could get used to this."

"Well, Monday comes soon. If you still feel like this, you should be able to go to school."

"Yeah. I have theater on Mondays anyway." Cecil replied. "So... Wanna do homework? You brought yours."

"How did you-" Rico paused, "Right. Psychic. Yeah, sure. Ice Cream?"

Cecil smiled widely. "Definitely."

The weather ended. Cecil began speaking, Kevin was gone.

Steve didn't know why he'd been having the flashbacks. But they were really making him depressed. It probably had something to do with the sandstorm. It didn't really matter.

Steve listened to the end of the broadcast. He listened to the words. He started crying. He wouldn't have cried, normally, but on a day like today, after reliving all the memories, he took them in a different context. They applied to him personally.

He didn't know why he cared. He'd told himself he didn't care a thousand times before. And he truly didn't, for a time. For a time, he really hated Cecil. But something had happened. Something he couldn't explain.

And now, he sat in his room. Listening to the radio. Listening to _him_. And he was crying.

Cecil was at school. It was Monday. He was at his locker again, but this time he was much more confident. His third eye was open. He was getting used to having three extra arms. Steve was coming to talk to him, but Cecil wasn't afraid this time.

"Hi Steve!" Cecil said, not bothering to turn around.

"Oh." Steve said, a little startled, "Uh, hi. They told me you were psychic, but I didn't think you were _that_ psychic."

"Hehe, sorry. I'm still getting used to it." Cecil replied. He faltered. It was barely noticeable, but his pupils dilated a little and his markings grew a little darker in color.

Steve smiled. "That's good. So, yeah... I... I'm really, really sorry."

"I know." Cecil said, although his smile this time was a little more forced. He took a slow, deep breath, and closed his third eye. This time Steve noticed something was amiss.

"Are you alright? You look pale." Steve took Cecil's hand, gently. Cecil was shaking.

"I-I'm fine. Sorry. Don't know what came over me. I-" His third eye fluttered open, but closed again quickly. "It's just so... bright..." Cecil mumbled.

"Bright?" Steve asked.

"Like... I can see too much. Why is it bothering me now... Where's Rico when I need him..."

"Cecil? Cecil?" Steve was tempted to wave a hand in front of his face. He was muttering and staring off into space.

"Steve." Cecil's voice was steady at first, but then it faltered. "Ste-Steve, I... I don't know what's happening... Wh-why... Why am I crying?" Cecil wiped his eyes, and weakly laughed.

"It's okay, it's okay..." Steve said, putting his hands on Cecil's shoulders, "Look at me, it's okay..."

"I-it isn't okay... haha. I'm crying and I have no reason to... Oh." Cecil seemed to snap out of it. "I know why now. I know..." Cecil leaned back against the lockers to keep from falling over. He covered his face with his hands.

"Why? Cecil? Cecil, what happened?" Steve asked impatiently, trying to calm him.

"Steve," Cecil said very seriously, looking him in the eye, "_Steve, I need to know if the football game is still going on._"

Steve frowned. He tried to ignore the change in Cecil's voice. "Yes, it is... why?"

"_I-it's Rico. He-he fell and... He's alive, but... He's unconscious. Steve... wh-why do I know this? I shouldn't, by all reason, but... __**It's like I'm standing right there.**__ I..._" Cecil started to fall to his knees. Steve caught him.

"Cecil..." Steve wanted to say so much. He wanted to tell him that everything was okay, that it came with being a psychic. He wanted to tell him that he would help him in any way he could, that he'd always be there for him. He couldn't speak. He just stared into Cecil's vibrant violet eyes, full of tears, unable to vocalize his thoughts. He leaned forward and kissed him.

There was a moment where everything was frozen. Then Cecil pushed him away.

"_**Steve Carlsberg.**_" Cecil was... Glaring at him? Why would Cecil be mad? It wasn't like Cecil to be angry...

"_**What are you doing?**_"

Steve tried to utter a response, but Cecil cut him off.

"_**You think that you can just-just come in when I'm having a... an anxiety attack, and just... Do something like that?! After all that you said? You... you think that just because I... like men, that I'm okay with you... kissing me?! You think that I'm some kind of... slut?! Listen here, Steve Carlsberg. I know for a fact what you think of-of people like me. And it is offensive-very much so-to assume that I would be comforted by you doing something like that when I know you don't actually feel that way!**_"

Steve's mouth was dry. He had never seen Cecil this angry before. It was almost impossibly strange.

"_You know what I think of you, __**Steve Carlsberg?!**_" Cecil continued, taking a step forward, "_**You are a jerk.**_"

Cecil turned and quickly walked away, leaving Steve staring helplessly after him. Steve covered his face with his hands and leaned against the wall. He stifled his sobs. He didn't want to make a scene. Even after everything that had happened, he didn't want to be different.

Cecil was crying. His third eye had been closed during his outburst, but he hadn't wanted to see what Steve was thinking anyway. He was convinced that it would only hurt him more.

"_Damn it..._" Cecil whispered under his breath, "_Why did I have to love __**him**__?_"

"_Hello...?_" Cecil said cautiously, leaning forward over the microphone when the weather had ended, "_Night Vale...? I have returned... from whatever horrible place I have gone. Along the way, in the vortex, I saw a __**grotesque**__ man._" Cecil shuddered a bit at the thought of him.

"_A foul,__** devil**__ of a man... And he __**attacked**__ me! ...I tried to choke him to death, but I remembered. I remembered what I told you, and I let him live. I let that woeful beast __**live**__. I am sure he is not without his wounds, and bruises, and I __**pity**__ that he must return to that awful, __**awful**__ place from whence he came and to where I most __**unfortunately**__ visited. But somehow... I am happy he is alive. That I am alive. That you are alive. That we are alive. Outside, the winds are subsiding, the sun sweeping away our pains. I am sure there is blood staining the streets, the graffiti of our sins, the writings of an immoral but necessary battle... I presume. The bodies of some are replaced by others who were, we were, all the same to begin with. And we are healing. Those of us-whoever we are who survived-those others of us-whoever we are-we conquered. Whoever you are now... You are home! We are home, Night Vale! You and I are together again, my mouth, your ears, we have __**each other**__! ...And for now, and always... Good night, Night Vale. __**Good Night.**_"


End file.
